Doing It On Your Own

It's been 86 days since my son went away to college.

It's been the longest he's ever been away from me and the farthest he's ever been from me physically.

He's across the country at George Mason University.

He's a California kid - see shorts that he's wearing in November - and he lives most of the time in Virginia now.

There aren't any four year college programs here in California.

Our search for colleges that are created especially for people with intellectual disabilities took us all over the country...but sadly, hardly anywhere in the west.

Every single step I wondered if it was right.

I tried to follow Patrick's lead...tried to gauge whether it was he who cared about college or me.

I wanted to be careful about pressuring him into something that wasn't right...plus I have an intense desire for each of my children to live their authentic life, not mine.

But with someone with a disability, there is usually more parent participation and looking for college was no different.

He applied.

He interviewed.

He got accepted.

And then the hard part began...we had to imagine what life without Patrick in our every day sphere would mean.

We had to be okay with him going.

We had to be more than okay...we had to be excited for him...and shove our fears and worries to the side.

86 days ago he moved into a dorm.

He lives with two other people with disabilities and a typical student who is a 4th year mechanical engineering major...from New Jersey.

His name is Stav.

This was Stav and Patrick on Move In Day...and the friendship has only grown.

What's happened for Patrick is a lot of growth...personally and emotionally. 

But something else has happened...something that you wish for each of your children and almost never can picture for your adult child with a disability.

Patrick has found a COMMUNITY.

He has something that Dr. Erik Carter from Vanderbilt University identifies so well:

BELONGING.

It has developed slowly over these months...but today, 86 days later, it is easy to spot.

When we visited Patrick and were dropping him back off in his dorm, a friend saw him, opened the door to his own room and yelled to another friend,
"Patrick's back!"

Dr. Carter speaks about true Belonging as "an ache when someone is missing" and there it was...

people noticed he was gone...people wanted him back.

He had his peeps.

When we call him and Facetime him, he is often surrounded with people:

He is busy and learning alongside of friends.

TOGETHER they have strength and courage

...they can do the hard things...

they can work through the glitches and figure it out.

Just a couple of weeks ago, we called Patrick and there were four people holding up his foot.

He showed us their faces and we asked what was going on.

Patrick had a blister...a little blood...and his crew was working together to figure out how to help.

Honestly.

Truly.

Really.

This is what we all long for...what our hearts yearn for...

we crave connection.

Today, Patrick flies across the country on his own for Thanksgiving...

only we know the truth.

This HUGE milestone would not be possible if it wasn't for the experiences he has had over these 

86 days.

He's not alone.

He has a friend of mine who is willing to take him to the airport, guide him through security and show him the way.

He has a community that believes in him 

AND OFFERS SUPPORTS WHEN NECESSARY.

Isn't that what we all need?

Watching Patrick has made me more determined than ever to create a community where I live that offers that same beauty of welcome and belonging.

Support and kindness.

Patrick is living a life that is all his...with support from so many.

That's the kind of world we all want.

The kind we all need.

This Thanksgiving, we will count milestones and blessings and be clear...

none of us do this on our own.

We need each other.

Together, with all our foibles and fumbles, we are better.

Grateful doesn't cover it.

Crazy Love

I would often see him when I was dropping Caroline off at school.

He would zip in and drop his girls off at school and head off.

He was a great big bear of a man.

His love was palpable.

Crazy love.

I knew it well.

My husband has that same kind of crazy love.

We rarely exchanged words...

maybe an occasional smile.

But because of that crazy love,

I knew I liked him.

I could feel the blanket of love he wrapped around his two girls, myself.

I didn't even know his name.

Oh, but I knew him.

Knew he'd be the kind of guy I could hang out with at a barbeque.

Someone I could dish with...

...because that crazy love was something we had in common.

Now, my chance is gone.

Yesterday, I learned his name.

Mark left us...

bound for a place filled with even crazier love.

Deeper, more mysterious.

Jaw-dropping and wonderful.

It's hard to imagine...

and all of us left behind just want another few days,

well, maybe weeks or years or 

damn it, decades.

*****

I read a book a while ago called The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

It's about two teenagers who have cancer.

I don't want to give anything away because I want you to read it...

it's really amazing...

but at the end someone has to speak about the terrible torture of a shortened life and uses this quote:

"Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. 

I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for _____. 

But, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. 

I wouldn't trade it for the world.

You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful."

"a forever within the numbered days"

"our little infinity"

That's all any of us get.

Yes, some infinities are bigger than other infinities

and none of it makes any sense.

Why should someone with so much crazy love

go so soon?

Why should someone else who is a rock solid criminal live into old age in prison?

In moments like this I wonder why this love, this life, 

this chance to breathe deep and hold close those we love the most,

why must that end?

But again, I know, that I don't get to know...

not just yet.

On this side, I get to sink into the questions;

try to fight the quicksand of believing we can figure it out.

What I know...all I know...

is that energy doesn't disappear.

I know for sure that Mark's crazy love is cosmic bubble wrap surrounding his girls 

and his wife, Debi, forever.

I know that we are all better for witnessing that kind of love.

I know that his girls have been loved oh so well by their dad.

Isn't that all that matters?

How well did you love?

How deep did you love?

Who did you love?

Mark wasn't stingy.

His crazy love surrounds us all.

*****

"We are travelers on a cosmic journey,

stardust,

swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity.

Life is eternal.

We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other,

to meet,

to love,

to share.

This is a precious moment.

It is a little parenthesis in eternity."

-- Paul Coelho, The Alchemist

You Are Awesome! Yes, You!

Yes, I'm talking to you.

So, one of my favorite things to do is to enjoy my local Turkey Trot.

You probably have something like this in your town...it's a race (5K or 10K or kid's race options) and streets are closed off, and port-a-potties are lined up and a big finish line banner is hoisted and it becomes very official: people are running, or walking, or pushing strollers.

I have participated in my town's Turkey Trot one time as a stroller-pusher with Caroline strapped in as a toddler.  She seemed fine with it.  Patrick walked alongside me and it was a good feeling of participating as a group working toward being healthy and a citizen of my town.

But I didn't like it nearly as much as my sideline participation in the Turkey Trot.

You see, the Turkey Trot goes right by house.

And every year I get up, purposely late, walk to the corner and scream to the runners: 

You Are AWESOME!!

I just yell and yell for about 45 minutes.  

Cheering on the runners at the end of the race.  They aren't the elite racers. They aren't the every-day-five-mile-no-matter-what runners.  These are the ones who are trailing behind and bringing up the back.

I pretty much repeat the same phrase over and over and I'm telling you, it's a winner.

The reactions are so honest and so beautiful and some are downright funny.

You have the "super-cool-and-I'm-a-real-runner" reaction...

they don't flinch, they give a head nod and keep running, they keep their pace and stay focused.

They are real runners after all and cannot be distracted by a weirdo yelling You're Awesome.

Let me also reveal for the record that I am most assuredly not a real runner.  

I attempted cross country in 8th grade and had some heart palpitations that sent my mom into her own heart palpitations and the distraction of running became a no no.

Couldn't even entertain the thought...besides...I didn't like it.

I'd much rather be a walker, a bike rider, a dog walking-dancing machine...anything but running.

So it helps that I truly do think these people running -- and that includes everyone -- are awesome for getting out there and doing it.

So back to the runners...

we have the "dang-I-can-barely-take-another-step" runner.  

These people are winded, tuckered out and shame faced when they come upon my cheering.

They mistakenly believe I'm cheering for someone else.

When I call them out and say, "Yes, you!! You are awesome!!" They look up and get that shy smile that is the effort of every cheering section on the planet.

And, for a millisecond they let it sink in...they are awesome.

Sometimes they brush it off but other times it perks them up and you can see the transformation.

You can see their mind calculating: "Wait. I'm not running, I'm breathing hard, I'm struggling, how can I be awesome...but that weirdo over there is yelling it directly to me...and well, I am out here running, and it is a foggy/rainy/cold day...maybe I am awesome."

I love it.

Yes, you are awesome!!

No proving it.

No worthiness needed.

You, right there, hon, you are awesome!!

When I'm doing my cheering, I get in the flow.

I don't care who sees me or how crazy it looks.

I love having the socially acceptable moment to yell "You are awesome!"

 to anyone and everyone on my path.

I highly recommend trying it sometime.

It makes your heart swell.

For a brief moment in time, you can see the awesomeness in all of humanity and it's pretty beautiful.

Of course, there's always the polite runners.

The ones who've been taught manners and thank you notes and reciprocity.

They are the ones that when I yell "You are awesome!" to them they yell right back to me, 

"You're awesome too. Thanks!"

I smile my shy smile because the mother in me wants to high five the mother that shadowed and loved and nurtured those runners...you see, that mother is most definitely running right alongside them.

Heloise would agree...manners matter...even in a Turkey Trot.

Maybe it's the time of year...steeped in gratitude, ginkgo trees and fire ash and oaks showing off, humanity has a halo of goodness built in for me.

But whatever it is, I love the Turkey Trot.

And if you didn't get to hear my cheer, here's one for you, 

You're awesome!!

We Long To Belong

 

Sitting in my seminar this week with my student teachers we talked about how to manage kids in the classroom.  

We discussed the three guest speakers we had had the week before --

excellent teachers from all walks of life.

All three of them kept repeating the same message.

Even though they were from different cities and from different schools with different populations of students.

They said it many different ways but it all came down to this:

The student must feel unconditional acceptance from you.

The students need to feel loved and connected...

...and then, said so simply by one of my student teachers, this gem revealed itself:

we long to belong.

I've been rolling that around in my head for a few days...

smoothing it over like a favorite blanket...

petting it...

visiting those simple rhyming words...

and letting them sink way down deep.

No duh.

We know this at such a basic level that we overlook it.

As parents.

As friends.

As family members.

As community members.

As a couple.

And yes, as teachers.

I've been working on a little dream of my own recently and it has everything to do with belonging.

Everything about feeling worthy and celebrated and accepted.

We long to belong.

Every child should feel worthy.

Every child should feel cherished and treasured and wanted...

especially at school....

most especially if we say we're Catholic and work to have our children attend Catholic school.

Parents of children with disabilities are a special group.

They've been separated and isolated through almost their entire parenting journey.

That feeling of isolation can be crushing.

Not to mention lonely.

These families have most definitely felt like outsiders standing at the gate.

They knock on the door...but they just aren't sure it will open.

It's time we threw the door wide open.

We long to belong.

Yep, folks, right here.right now. we are working on full inclusion in Catholic schools.

We are supporting families, educators, administrators and priests or other religious with our 

vision and hope.

 Turns out belonging has a name -- fullinclusionforcatholicschools.org  

There's no entrance fee.

No golden ticket required.

You belong just by being you.

You are welcomed and wanted.

Come on in.

Anything Can Be

Anything can be.

Anything.

Tonight is proof.

5,445 days ago a little baby was born.

He had Down Syndrome...a heart defect and later leukemia.

5,445 days ago I didn't know a thing.

I was biased and prejudiced.

Flattened and broken.

I believed the mustn'ts and the don'ts.

And the universe handed me a child...and his soul whispered to me,

"Anything can be."

I didn't know what to do or how to be.

But my older two kids did.

They knew how to love and they poured it on thick.

They were delighted with this baby filled with shouldn'ts and won'ts.

They knew the secret:

Anything Can Be.

Slowly.

Following the path of love and the glittered steps of preschoolers who knew best, I learned.

I learned that mothering this new baby was the same as mothering those other two...

love, belief, faith, being there....day in and day out.

*****

Recently I read this essay about wishing out loud.

I loved it.

In it, Mitchel encourages you and me to: "Share your wishes freely to anyone who will listen."

I've been doing that for awhile.

Wishing out loud.

LOUD.

Please, please, please let all children learn alongside each other.

LOUD.

Back in 1999, when Patrick was born, honestly, it felt like my wishing flame pilot light had gone out.

I didn't know what to wish for.

I felt alone.

Isolated.

I had no road map...and for someone who used to pour over the giant world atlas, that felt weird.

What does this new world of mine look like?

Who is with me?

Am I as alone as I feel?

*****

5,445 days have gone by.

The baby has gotten bigger, grown stronger, and is sitting on the edge of manhood.

He's reading, writing, passionate, funny, exuberant and his very own self.

Incomparable.

Inexplicable.

Indefinable.

Miraculously irreplaceable.

I could never have known his place that he alone would carve out for himself in this world of ours.

I could never picture his truth.

All I could do was live alongside him and show up each day...learning the lessons meant for me alone.

5,445 lessons...perfectly circular...perfectly balanced.

Tonight it all came together.

Tonight Patrick graduated from 8th grade...from a Catholic school.

He's the first in the diocese to be fully included in the regular classroom,
learning alongside his typical peers,
attending the same school as his big brother and sister.

The first.

In blue cap and gown he walked in holding a lit candle.

Light in the darkness.

Another reminder.

Anything can be.

He strode up to receive his diploma.

He sat back down and listened to the award winners.

Award winners for art, math, science, social studies, PE, literature.
His name wasn't called.
It didn't matter.
The award for most improved in Computer Class came and his name was announced.
He popped up -- eager to be singled out and awarded.
It felt good.
We moved on.

Suddenly, the teacher mentioned a special award.
She spent time explaining the award.
She detailed the recipient.
Describing attitude, effort and perseverance...lessons taught, day in, day out.
Patrick's name was the one on the award.

And like a crazy dream, he leaped up to receive the award
as his classmates cheered.
His classmates stood up.
The audience stood up...
the room transformed into a full standing ovation
I just sat there...
until the energy of the room pulled me up and I turned to my mom and asked,
"Is this real?"

I couldn't take it in.
Couldn't really make sense of it.

Anything can be.

This child of mine -- so broken to the outside world -- was fully seen, fully recognized,
fully accepted on this day, in this moment, at his school.
He was worthy.
He was good enough.
In fact, he was admired and awarded.

And in this moment, in this dream-like world, we were one.
Every single one of us in that big church belonged.
We were valued.
We were loved.

The message was loud and clear.
You, Patrick Foraker, have taught us something.
Something we didn't know until you showed us.

There will always be mustn'ts and can'ts.
Don'ts and wont's.
None of it matters, friend.
Anything can be.

So today I am grateful for this moment of hope and encouragement.
Profoundly grateful to the many, many encouragers who met us on this path.
Grateful to Sarah and Steve and Ashley and the many priests, principals, teachers, aides and staff who found a way to make anything be real.
Grateful for ordinary holiness, sacred acceptance, and this moment right now.

Anything can be.

Dreams come true.
Share your wishes out loud.
Wait.

Watch what happens in a few thousand days.

Happy Graduation, Patrick!

Being Catholic

I'm Catholic.

Yesterday, I had a chance to practice my faith and deepen my faith and share in it with Caroline as she prepares to make her 

Holy Communion next week-end.

We had a Bread Retreat for the entire second grade.

We made bread.

Simple. Humble. Delicious.

We said a blessing over every single ingredient:

"Bless this flour.  May it remind us of all who have helped us come so far.  

We pray for all people who work to make the world a better place."

"Bless this sugar.  May it help us to be sweet in our words and actions toward others."

"Bless this water -- a sign of our baptism.  May we always remember that we are God's children."

"Bless this milk.  It reminds us of our first food -- mother's milk.  Bless our mothers who love us and care for us each day."

"Bless this salt.  Life first began in the sea.  May we show respect for Life in how we treat all of God's creations."

"Bless this wheat flour -- it reminds us that change is hard.  The wheat had to grow in hot sun, be cut, ground and milled.  Sometimes we also struggle to do what is right.  Give us strength Lord."

Even the pans got a blessing:

"Bless these pans that give bread shape.  God has shaped us from the earth and love.  

May we remember that He is always there to help us and love us."

Honestly, the whole day is a lesson in being grateful for the most essential and simple items that we take for granted and barely notice.

It's humbling and beautiful and it fills me up for a good long while...like a cold, icy drink on that ragged, hot day...I am so so good after this retreat.

Caroline brought home her bread, eager to share it with all of us.

We had to wait until John got home from a business trip so we waited a day to break the bread together.

And in one day...a tiny blip of a few hours...

our priest was arrested and put in jail for statutory rape of a minor.

And that is being Catholic too.

(And I'm not being ironic.)

We are in this together.  There is no us vs. them.  We are all us. 

Always.

Bad things, terrible things, heartbreaking things are all around us.

Really good people make really bad choices every day.

People who you count on, disappoint.

Hell, we disappoint ourselves and the very people we love dearly, constantly.

It's messy being human.

It's hard to have moral courage day in and day out...damn near impossible.

It's shameful and heartbreaking and sometimes just plan sad.

But then we get moments like this:

And it all becomes really clear.

We only have each other...for a limited time at best.

Even when it's messy, scary, dangerous, or maybe especially when it is those things, 

we need to cling to each other.

Cling to the ancient wisdom that is our faith.

Cling to the holy words of St. Francis:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.  

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

Oh, Divine Master, grant that I may

not so much seek to be consoled, as to console.

To be understood, as to understand.

To be loved, as to love.

For it's in giving that we receive.

And it's in pardoning that we are pardoned.

And it's in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

Somehow.some.way.we find comfort that this messy crazy world has been just like this for thousands of years...full of broken people doing their best  -- and failing quite often.

Still in this world of sadness, disappointment, loss, ignorance and hatred there is the beauty.  

Unmistakeable beauty.

It is full to the brim with miracles like water and salt and sugar and love and redemption and second chances and new life...

over and over again.

For some people, faith seems ridiculous.

Laughable.

For me, especially in times like these...it's the only thing that makes sense.

It is a comfort to know that others have been right here in the middle of their messy, broken lives and found a way.

It's a comfort to rest in the words, the prayers and the basic truths that are my faith.

I'm going to wait for the light.

It's coming.

I have faith.

Until then, I'll make my peace with the dark.

For that's what makes the light even more beautiful.

Speak Up

"Nearly all men can stand adversity,

but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."

--Abraham Lincoln

Holy Moly!  We have a full "As The World Turns" going on in my little town.

It's crazy.

It's ludicrous.

It would be something worth talking about if it didn't involve coaches and kids...make that one kid.

But maybe that makes it even more worth talking about.

We have a school board that governs our schools.

We have 8 elementary schools; three junior high schools; three high schools and a whole group of people who choose 

"independent study".

That's a lot of students, gobs of teachers and plenty of administrators for five people to attempt to guide.

It's a thankless job.

Let's establish that right now.

There are long hours, lots of emotion, endless need and never enough money.

Very, very few take the time to thank our school board.

Plenty find a way to complain.

That's the nature of the beast.

I have a good friend who has just begun her tenure on a school board in a neighboring town.

As a teacher and a parent and a citizen, I get it...big time.

However, it's time to shed some light.

What is going on??

Who is in charge?

Is it really possible for one parent who is on the school board to demand an "investigation" about their one child getting cut from a sports team -- that actually costs over $22,000 -- and not have a full rebellion from all parents, educators, administrators and anyone else who cares about our schools and our town???

Is it really possible to stay quiet and just feel disappointed??

Let's start with some unpleasant facts...if you're on the school board it is your job to stay neutral and on the side of the schools.

Yes, even if your own child gets cut from a team and you feel it was unfair.

Even if you feel that the coach is doing a poor job.

You are supposed to have faith in the system you are a part of...you are supposed to trust the process.

It is a breach of your privilege of being on the school board to actively work to fire a coach.ever.

Frankly, you shouldn't have that level of power.

Once that process began, the rest of the school board had the hard job of confronting a person who was misusing her position of power.

The rest of the school board has shirked its duties.over and over again.

Allowing $22,000 to be spent on an "investigation" about one student and one coach is unconscionable.

Let's list some things that $22,000 could be used for in our district:

1) a half time school counselor at the high school level

2) 44 Ipads to use in any school

3) a new roof on any school 

4) updated heating/cooling system

5) professional growth for an entire staff or two at a school site.

5) filling an entire school library with new books

We still don't know who authorized the "investigation" -- we don't know why the "investigation" created a 72 page report -- and we don't know why it cost $22,000.

We have a right to know and to see through these proceedings.

After all, we're paying the tab!

When we are quiet about this as citizens, guess who loses?

Our kids.

Our teachers.

Our coaches.

Those coaches work for a pittance.

They have to deal with way too much as it is already to allow this disgrace to go unfettered.

Coaches need respect.

Coaches need positive support.

Coaches are doing the best they can.

Can they do better?

Sure.

We all can.

Yes. Students get cut from teams.

That's how competitive teams work.

If you don't like that, don't participate.

Yes. My own children got cut from teams.

And yes, I watched someone get cut from a team in part because of the way she spoke to her mother on the phone.

The captain of that team made a comment to the coach about that behavior and yes, that mattered.

It should.

It speaks to how that person would be on a team and as a team-mate.

Should a person be cut from a team because his/her parents are difficult??

Well, that's up to the coach.

And, yes, that's his/her call to make.

We need to stop what we're doing as individuals in our town and let our kids and teachers and coaches know how important they are.

We need to speak up.

Someone's got to...

because when we're silent, we give the impression that it's all  okay.

And, ummmmm it's not.

Not even a little.

We give the impression that we're fine with it.

And, I'm not.

Not.at.all.

Where's the grace???

In the coaches and teachers and students who still have faith.

Who still trust the process.

Who believe that it will all work out, 

if they just keep working hard and keep their eyes on the prize.

It's for them that I write this.

You, yes you, are my inspiration.

Keep at it.

We've got your back.

Dear Winters

"What we have done alone for ourselves dies with us; 

what we have done for others and the world remains immortal."  

--Albert Pike

Dear Winters, California,

You are so darling.  

You are a small community...connected and close.  

You have natural beauty and the authentic beauty of a community that cares.  You are special and rare.

Last Monday morning, your beautiful town was forever scarred.

You lost a citizen to murder, in broad daylight, going about her everyday routine of living in your town being a single mom.  Her boyfriend, filled with anger and hate, stole a life and created a shadow of darkness and fear.

I am so so sorry.  

Know that many are praying for you, sending their love and surrounding you in good thoughts.

In your grief you have a choice. 

You can choose love.

You have a chance to honor the person stolen from you.  You have a chance to remember her light and her beauty.  You can share her stories, her humor, her acts of kindness and her strength.  You can look this act of rage and anger straight in the face and recognize that these sorts of stories need outside support and greater acceptance.  You don't have to be ashamed if you are being mistreated or abused. 

When we stand with people at the margins, there are no margins. 

(Wish I could claim credit for that line but that is the wisdom of Father Greg Boyle who has seen more than his fair share of loss and murder working with the gangs of east LA.)

Or you can choose fear.

You can close yourself off from the outside world.  You can suspect the outsider and shut your heart off with judgment and criticism.  You can pretend it didn't happen.  Never speak of it again.  You can comfort yourself with the numbing idea that those sorts of stories only happen to other families and other people or that this was a one-time-only weird thing.

I hope you choose love.

I pray that with your broken hearts you can recognize the crack in others' hearts and see that we all need forgiveness, kindness and light.  I hope that as a town you can do something big that honors this woman and creates a safe haven for the many others that are just like her.

I hope that Winters becomes the ground-zero of bringing community compassion and care to a whole new level.  

I know you are that kind of place.

And I want to remind you of one of the laws of physics: the conservation of energy.

Energy doesn't just disappear.

It transforms.

Although Leslie's physical self is no longer here, her energy most certainly is.

It is surrounding you, transforming you -- moving and calming and guiding.

You can already see this in the way people are responding in this terrible moment.

Hold this knowledge close...let that be your comfort.

Hold each other close.

Choose love.

We are with you.every.step.of.the.way.

Building A Door

"If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door." -- Milton Berle

Last Saturday night I had a dream come true. 

It isn't often that something that you have been thinking about for years and creating in your mind takes place, but last Saturday night that's what happened.  We had a Dinner Under the Stars in our backyard.  We set out tables of eight and put on white table cloths. We had someone fill vases of flowers with gerbera daisies and sunflowers.  We had a chef create delicious treats and we paused our busy lives and said thanks.

The universe seemed to be in on the action too.  The weather cooperated with a lovely cool night.  The sunset went down with its typical, breath-taking beauty.  The stars came out and danced and decorated the night sky.  

Last Saturday night, I had the joy to formally thank, out loud and in person, two people who helped build a door, 

Father Dan Looney and Mary Kay Bolz.

Do you know why it's blurry?  My hand was shaking...that's what happens when a dream is coming true!

When Patrick was born, one of the very first things that broke my heart was the idea that he wouldn't be able to be a part of Jack and Mary Kate's world at school.  I thought that because he had Down Syndrome he would be automatically excluded from attending the Catholic school that was such a huge part of our lives.  I felt the feeling of isolation and exclusion almost immediately and I cried for Patrick.  I cried for Jack and Mary Kate and I cried for all the others who had been excluded before us.  I could feel the deep sadness of being an outsider and wanted an opportunity to belong.

When Patrick was just days old, we attended mass.  We were reeling from the news that Patrick not only had Down Syndrome but that he would need open heart surgery within just a few weeks.  We were scared and sad.  We tried to go through the motions of our old life but we knew that it was just that...we had crossed a bridge and our life would be forever different.

Guess who met us outside of church?  Guess who held tiny baby Patrick...held him close, looked into his eyes...saw his beauty and acknowledged it?  Guess who gave him a blessing -- simple and from the heart -- right there outside of mass on a sunny, hot July day?  Yes, that dear man in the picture above, Father Dan.  I remember hot tears in my eyes and the beauty of acceptance. I am forever grateful...and let's not even talk about John's love and appreciation of that moment.  I know for him that was a salve and a healing that will be with him forever.

As Patrick grew, the feeling of being excluded from school led me to search online in the hope that maybe others had been included in their local Catholic schools.
Turns out, they had.
I linked up with nationwide groups like the Network of Inclusive Catholic Educators.  I found out about FIRE and REACH and a whole host of other small groups working toward including people with disabilities in the classrooms and in the religious education classes of Catholic churches all over the United States.  There are pockets of inclusion in Sioux Falls, South Dakota; Miami, Florida; Phoenix, Arizona; Minneapolis, Minnesota; Kansas City, Missouri; Charleston, South Carolina and Los Angeles, California.

It was happening all over the country.

So, Father Dan, the pastor of St. James parish, and Mary Kay Bolz, the principal of St. James School,  took a leap of faith.  Together they allowed Patrick the opportunity of becoming a student at St. James.  When I asked Mary Kay if she wanted me to write a note to the parents of the kindergarten class about Patrick I will never forget her words: "No, Beth, that's not necessary.  You see, I want them to come talk to me.  I want them to look me in the eye and tell me how Patrick being in that class will be a problem for their child.  Bring it on."

Turns out that no one ever felt the need to approach Mary Kay.  The parents in Patrick's class have been nothing but supportive, encouraging and welcoming, always.
The Dinner Under the Stars was for them too.

And for the teachers.  God bless the teachers...the ones who actually had to navigate the uncharted territory of full inclusion.  The ones who had to deal with the everyday glitches.  The ones who had to make the phone call and troubleshoot. And it was for Bev, our school secretary, who has been in on more than her fair share of various forms of Patrick illness and Patrick's lovely sense of time and slowing down the journey.  I don't want to total up the number of tardies she has written for my son...but it's plenty.

But the Dinner Under the Stars was also for other parents of children with disabilities.  It was for other teachers at other schools, other administrators and other angels who believe in this mission even if they have nothing to personally gain from it.  They are the cheerleaders and the encouragers.  It was for them too.  It was a chance to look over the road we have travelled and a chance to see the road ahead of us.

The door has been opened for Patrick but that's not the end of the story.  There are other doors to be built.  Other doors to open and other people waiting to cross through the threshold.  It's up to us to widen the entrance.  It's up to us to hold out our hands and welcome them.  It's up to us to let them know that inclusion may be scary and uncomfortable but it is never pointless.  It is never a waste of time to include those on the fringes....isn't that whole point of being Catholic?

So, while I got to stop and say thanks to two amazing trailblazers, we aren't by any means done.  We have many, many more families to include and welcome and plenty of students who wish for the same opportunity.  It's up to us to point the way and keep walking the path.

 And, to the many whose shoulders I have stood on in this journey who could not be at the Dinner Under the Stars, please know you were in my heart.  Angie Quissell, Kevin Baxter, Lilly Rangel Diaz, Cindy May, Dave Perry and countless others -- you were there.  You were sparkling and shining.  You were a part of something that I hope keeps growing and thriving and becomes a full-on paradigm shift within Catholic education.
Keep shining.  Keep building doors.  Keep at it.
We're not done.

Tender Mercies

"Happiness isn't complicated.  

It is a humble state of gratitude for simple pleasures, tender mercies, recognized blessings, and inherent beauty." 

-- Richelle E. Goodrich

Today was a happy day.  

It included nothing expensive...in fact, it was free.  It was filled with inherent beauty that's for sure.  

Simple pleasures were abundant.

I counted more than several blessings and one tender mercy..but that's a story for later.

In my local paper I had read about a man who grows two acres of zinnias and offers them free to anyone who can pick them.  His one caveat: for every bouquet you pick for yourself, you must pick another one and leave it at the zinnia patch.  The bouquet left behind is for someone who cannot pick it for themselves -- maybe they are in the hospital or a nursing home.  The farmer has the pick up and drop off all lined up.  All you have to do is fill the empty vase...with his freshly picked flowers.

Like some sort of Bobby Flay "Throw Down", a proposal like that is irresistible.

We set off for the zinnia patch.

Anyone know California's state motto?  Eureka!
(aka: We found it!)

We picked.  We wandered.  We stared at the wildlife that hangs out in a flower patch: hummingbirds, spiders, lizards, butterflies, dragonflies...the list goes on and on.
We gathered zinnias and then gathered some more.
We marveled at the varieties.

We were all alone in a patch of flowers...thanks to one man's joy in simple pleasures.
And who exactly is that simple pleasure for?
Me? A mother looking for something fun to do during the summer?
My kids? Who need waaaaaaaay more time spent wandering flower patches, exploring nature and being in the quiet outdoors.
My sister? Who was looking for a place to hang out with her kids.
Her kids? Who love to explore.
Maybe it's the people who are going to get our extra bouquet...stuck in a hospital room or nursing home with a burst of the beautiful outdoors gracing their room.
Maybe it's for all of us...just sprinkling a little more beauty in our needy world.
That's the power of an act of kindness.  It just doesn't stop.
My bouquet gracing my kitchen table just puts my whole family into a zinnia kind of mood: vibrant, joyful, sparkly, unstoppable.  We can't help but smile...and stop and admire their beauty.

How about this beauty?

Just waiting to be picked...just beggin for a home.

I have to admire someone so willing to decorate our world...one zinnia at a time.  It challenges me to think of ways to do the same.  It reminds me of simple joys and the grace that surrounds us every single day.

Today's clouds...trying to decide which kind they were...fluffy, feathery or maybe stormy all in the same sky.

So...we got home, played florist and placed each flower in a hypnotic way into our vase and away we went.  I picked up Patrick from his play practice.  I filled my tank up with gas.  I noticed my tire was low.  So, I attempted to put air in it and I failed.  Thinking it was the air machine (it couldn't be me, could it??) I went to another gas station and tried again.  This time the tire pressure gauge was not kidding, my tire was low, really low.  I attempted to put air in again and wound up somehow letting more air out.  Can you say...really sad.

I looked up and there walking right by me was a young guy.  He was clearly on his way somewhere and moving fast.  I reached out and asked him if he knew how to put air in a tire.
Kindly, he stopped.  He didn't just do it for me, he took the time to teach me, sharing his technique of pulling the hose way out and tucking it under his foot to keep it steady. He filled my tire...checked in with me...warned me about over-filling my tires and then was on his way.
A tender mercy.
A stranger...crossing paths for only moment...but making a difference with his kindness and care.

So today was a boring old summer day.
Filled with zinnia pizzaz, kind guys willing to fill up low tires, sunshine and the freedom of summer.
Who loves summer? Yep, me...big time.
What have been your spots of sunshine this summer?